Atoms folding in

We are all broken
fragments of hope,
scattered tirelessly
through times
path across linear
dimensions
weaving through
planes of existence
here upon Terra.
Poor ageing Terra.

Then Gaia kissed life
into us, the skin
was her canvas
and the scars the
colours as Mother
painted energy
between the deep
rivets adding gentle
brush strokes of
silent hues
and vivid screams
of life.

Her paints run low now,
her waters are dry,
the air dirty,
her creation is
decaying, compromised,
the canvas rotting…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Fairytale truths

The wakened
sight of the
blind burning rigidity
into fluidity
through lucidity of mind.
A made up story
of upon a times,
the damsel,
the Princess,
the Queen and her tarts.
The owl is wise at twilight,
the flea upon a beggar,
the mouse,
he creeps,
he crawls he squeals
yet sees it all.
But alas,
his tail is a noose,
the farmers wife
got loose upon
offer of a truce.
You see,
its all a Grim type tale,
blood and guts,
deceit and glory
just another
virtual story.
Gone now is the hole,
The rabbit and Alice
Dreams have become
pixels,
Princes… Pixels
Kings… Pixels
Promises… Pixelated
fantasies,
Imaginary realities
King Ego ruling the roost
the awakened state
the new fairytale truth.

Karen Hayward ©2018
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Photo

Would you fry the eggs?
Would you kiss me soft,
and hard when required?
Would you feed me books,
would you allow me
stupidity, verbally,
… let’s call it daftness,
so I can learn?
Would you pull a blanket
over my shoulders as
I sleep?
Would you make my
favourite dinner when
I am sad, when I am happy,
when I am grateful, when
I am needful?
Would you leave me
be to watch old movies,
The Wizard of Oz
and contemporary
remakes,
would you let me talk?
Would you let me keep
my socks on?
No? Would you promise
to keep me warm?
Would you be the man?
The protector? For I am
tired of that role,
Would you let me be the
lady, meek and mild,
soft and gentle,
Would you let me be
the nurturer?
Would you stand at
my side when I am
the lion, fierce and
protective, would you
stay at my side
proudly then?
Would you let me
love you?
In all my abandoned
states of intensity,
passion and raw
quirkiness…
Would you let me love you?

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Horizons calling…

And all of my
yesterday’s made
my today,
horizon smeared
in the devils mist,
and still the sun
burns through
and verge edges
are promised,
and falling
is a must
I’m sure now
Oblivion can’t
be that deep
and rocks are
never as sharp
as we expect
and beyond that
veil, I can
finally derobe
this battered
armour
and let the sun
warm my skin…

Karen Hayward © 2018
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Pick up the pen
and write the poem,
It’s not rocket science,
It doesn’t have to be a meticulous scribe
Inscripted with archaic
lexicon, the imagery
doesn’t have to paint
a perfect theme,
the rhyme can be
awkward, screwed and
off whack. It doesn’t
have to be unique
or the same. It can
be raw and tough
and bleed from the page
It doesn’t have to
articulate your every
thought that speed
races through your
mind. It doesn’t
have to be as good
as his or her’s
and it doesn’t have
to be liked…
write the
God damn poem,
it isn’t
rocket science.

Karen Hayward ©2019

It’s not rocket science sweety

Dear one I have no business talking too…

It’s not rocket science my sweet…

They decieve us…not man, although they too lie,
I’m talking about books, poems, stories
Love, does not shackle us to endless grey skies,
or cage us behind thick heavy trees.
Love is boundless, without an origin
and missing the tethered rip of an end
alone, is not a facet love will bring
and if it does, my sweet, he is no friend.
Alas, you are caught in despairs whirlwind,
tangled between pain and belief, entrapped
in a splintered labrynth with false King.
Awake now, your golden light has been sapped.
Wait no longer, gather strength and esteem
this is not love, just an endless bad dream.

Karen Hayward 2019

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